Disclaimer: This is going to be a little different than my usual posts on this blog. Although this is my “serious” blog where I refrain from posting about things that don’t fit the content of this blog (Lucky Otter’s Haven has a much broader scope), I think most of the content here is by its nature, dark, deadly serious, and triggering, so I don’t see any harm in lightening things up on rare occasions.
Besides, I feel like my night with my daughter tonight was a kind of “win” that’s a sign that I’m progressing in my healing.
Gals’ Night at Home.
My daughter and I had a nice time girl-bonding tonight. I’m not the type that gets into female bonding in general ( most of my platonic friends have always been male), but every once in a blue moon, I can get down with it.
So we shared a bottle of chardonnay and got just a little goofy. She decided she wanted to give me a makeover and do my hair. I rarely have my hair done professionally; usually I do it myself, which means either a blunt, easy cut (if I’m ambitious) or a ho-hum parted down the center boring 1970s look.
I did have my hair done by a real hairdresser back in March (you might remember that post), but it’s expensive, and my hair was getting boring and lifeless again (and worse, frizzes in the high humidity, so I told her to be my guest and have at it.
She used a color called Soft Black Violet in the deepest layer of hair(near the scalp) and and after letting that sit about 20 minutes (rather than 40 like the box said–I didn’t want it BLACK because I remember about 20 years ago when I dyed my hair jet black and I looked exactly like Morticia from The Addams Family, with my pale, almost redhead type of skin crashing into the blue-black of my hair like a cargo of black and white linoleum floor tiles after a truck explosion.
I asked her how much gray hair she could see (I have no gray where I can see it in the mirror). She told me just a little in the deep layer near my neckline in the back.
“That’s it?” I marveled. One thing my family did right with me was give me good genes. I hate sounding narcissistic, but I always thought I looked pretty good. Most other people do too. Hardly anyone on either my mother’s or my father’s side looked anywhere near their real age (until age finally caught up with them, usually around 70 or 80).
“Yup,” my girl confirmed. Then, “Mom, you’re done. Wow, you look great!”
The result is a color a little deeper than strawberry blonde, but not really red either, sort of a dark mauve (the mauve must be from the “violet” in the haircolors’ name). My medium blonde hair on the top layer remained intact, and the effect makes my hair look thicker and with more 3-D depth.
The choice of color might seem a little eccentric for a woman my age, but I never pretended to be anything but a bit off the beaten path. Besides, my daughter picked it for me. It’s true, I’m not much of a risk taker in much of anything, but when it comes to doing weird stuff to my hair, well…
“Bring it on!”
It will always grow out if you hate it.
Here are the final results, after the blow dry and the hair straightening my daughter did. I think I just saved about $80.00.
One last thing that made everything perfect. Here’s the song we cranked up and sang at full volume so it reverberated against the white ceramic tiles that cover most of the bathroom walls. It’s one of her favorite songs ever and it’s grown on me too.